


Strawberry Sky

by hisokun



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Fluff, M/M, hisoillu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisokun/pseuds/hisokun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the first thing Hisoka thinks: Illumi has the lucid scent of strawberries on the side of his neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strawberry Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for Hisoka's birthday, because I love him.

Strawberry Sky

 

 

This is the first thing Hisoka thinks: Illumi has the lucid scent of strawberries on the side of his neck.

His skin is pale ice against the crimson color of the crippled sheets. His eyelids are adorned with the nightly shade of dreams. One portion of his face is lighted with the cinder glow of the late morning. The dark sprouts of his hair are rippling across the tickle of Hisoka’s ribs, curling against his chest like an ocean shell. Hisoka can feel their tangled legs routing underneath the blanket.

It’s so easy to get lost in Illumi like this, watching the sun furl light against the damp of his cheeks, listening to the forest breath of Illumi’s mint teeth, watching Illumi wound out his name like summer on his lips. Hisoka’s fingers are scouring through Illumi’s shoulder blade, watching the man take a slow heave of breath. His skin locates Illumi’s collarbone next, his nails brushing against the dotting lights as they turn into flesh.

Waking up next to Illumi like this, Hisoka isn’t sure if his ghosts actually exist.

The assassin flutters his eyes open, his lashes dark against the pink of his cheeks. His eyes are the striking color of the midnight moon, howling like a lone wolf in the woods. Illumi clasps a hand around Hisoka’s wrist. He slowly brings it to his lips, planting a light kiss at the map of Hisoka’s veins.

Hisoka can almost taste his breath – light, intoxicated, addicting.

“Good morning,” Illumi says softly.

His skin feels airy; Illumi’s words a rose bud over his throat. “Good morning.”

“Happy birthday.”

As expected, Hisoka feels a chilling pang in the cove of his chest. It spreads like an ember, hitting at his throat. But almost immediately, it dies down. He averts his eyes to the bruise on Illumi’s collarbone, the rise of his teeth found in the crescent scratches. Even after a year of _this_ , he’s still not used to it.

“Thank you,” he says finally. A little grin slips. “Can I have my birthday gift?”

Illumi presses his cheek farther into the pillow. His teeth start to scrape at the heel of Hisoka’s palm. There’s a growing smile on his lips, dipped with the sun. “Who said,” he murmurs, breath hot, “you’ll be getting any?”

Hisoka feels Illumi’s thigh hook into his hip. “Because I know you.”

“Oh?”

Before Hisoka can muster another reply, Illumi has already trapped Hisoka in between the grip of his thighs. Illumi’s body is towering over him. The strands of his hair are washing over Hisoka’s chest like the morning wing of a raven. A scatter of the pink afterglow of the sun shades the muscles of Illumi’s arms, the roll of his shoulders, the white spindle of his ribs.

Every part of Illumi’s body seems to perfectly fit into his.

Illumi hovers above him like the shadow of a winter moon. Hisoka can see the bites and scratches on his chest, remnants of sparked words and desperate kisses. He traces one of the fresh wounds with his finger, listening to the gentle pulse of Illumi’s strangled breathing. Illumi takes hold of the sheets before he lays his hands on Hisoka’s bare stomach.

“What are you doing?” Illumi whispers. His fingers are spiders, climbing up the walls of Hisoka’s abdomen.

Hisoka lets a soft laugh exit his lips. His heart is beating so furiously, it feels like it’s digging a way into his stomach, where Illumi’s hands are placed. No matter what Hisoka does, his heart always seems to makes its way into Illumi’s open palms. He brushes another bruise with his thumb, feeling Illumi waver at the contact.

“Retracing my steps,” he says. His voice is tight with yearning. “Making sure my name hasn’t been erased from your skin.”

Illumi purses his lips, his mouth gaping when Hisoka slips his hand at the brazen portion of his ribs. “What makes you think,” he rasps out, “that they will be?”

Hisoka lets the tumble of morning light fill the silence in between them. But the only thing he can hear is the solace of Illumi’s breath, the sunrise of his heartbeat, the moment when Illumi’s lips croak open for the sound of his name. Hisoka closes his eyes and lets it all sink in.

His fingers gravel for more of Illumi’s skin, fearing that if he holds on too loosely, he’ll no longer get to keep it.

Illumi arches against Hisoka’s body, pressing his cheek against the fall of Hisoka’s chest. “I still,” he says, struggling to clear his head, “want to give you your birthday present.”

“But you’re already my birthday present.”

“Flattering,” Illumi huffs, a breath of a laugh, “but I have other plans. I’m taking you out today.”

If he’s going to be honest, Hisoka doesn’t want to go out. His mind is focused on the branches of Illumi’s ribs, the splay of his love vibrant on Hisoka’s skin. But Illumi looks determined, and Hisoka doubts the assassin will be happy if his previous plans are cancelled. He feels himself giving in; hearing Illumi laugh to his jokes is already such a rare occurrence that this doesn’t feel real.

“Today is special,” Illumi reminds him. He’s tapping his fingers on Hisoka’s chest.

Hisoka hardly thinks that this day is _special_. But when Illumi presses their lips together like thread, their teeth baring with wanting, their mouths desperately groaning the shape of their names – Hisoka feels his hands roaming down Illumi’s hips, catching the back of his thighs to pull him closer.

This is no longer a ghost of a kiss, no longer a haunted kind of whiplash that leaves Hisoka reeling.

Illumi tastes like a storm, and Hisoka finds it impossible to let him go.

“I’m going to go take a bath,” Illumi whispers. His breath hits Hisoka’s cheek. His mouth is still pinching Hisoka’s bottom lip. “Will you come with me?”

“Is _that_ your birthday present?”

Illumi shakes his head, but there’s the same tiny smile. _What secret are you holding, Illumi?_

“You ask for such mundane things,” he answers. Before Hisoka can stop him, Illumi slips out of his grasp and out of the bed. His naked body is drowning with the flushed color of the morning. “I’m waiting, Hisoka.”

Hisoka releases another laugh before he pushes himself out of the sheets. He follows Illumi into the bathroom and closes the door.

Everything Illumi touches feels like home.

 

~***~

 

Illumi suddenly smells like the first hint of spring.

Hisoka’s nose pricks at the fresh sensation underneath his nostrils. He can feel a soft rustle tingle at his neck, glints of sunlight blasting through the open crevices of Illumi’s folded fingers, a trim of petals coating the tips of his skin as Illumi guides him further. Hisoka’s vision is blocked with Illumi’s fingers, a makeshift blindfold. He can feel Illumi’s palm resting on the small of his back.

“Are we there yet?”

Illumi makes a smooth circle with the pad of his thumb. It sends a dizzying wave down to Hisoka’s knees. “Are you excited?”

Hisoka tilts his head, considers it. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t know where they’re going, or where they are. He can only catch glimpses – the sun scalding his head, rough patches of stones digging into his feet, brushes of thorns at his fingertips, the quiet hum of late morning. It seems like they’re in a garden. Hisoka takes another soft inhale, letting the rush of flowers sink into his nostrils. But the one scent he focuses on is from the man right behind him.

Illumi still smells like strawberries – a winter haven kind of scent that makes Hisoka’s skin shudder through his ribs. Everything about Illumi Zoldyck makes his head spin with the mad intoxication of alcohol. But Hisoka doesn’t need to drink to know that he’s going to fall.

“Am I going to see my birthday present yet?”

“Almost,” Illumi answers. “I’m going to take off my hand. You’re not allowed to open your eyes. If you do, I’m going to stab them.”

Hisoka feels a laugh escape him. Illumi slowly retrieves his hands from Hisoka’s face, making sure that Hisoka’s eyelids are closed shut. There is a loud sound of a lock unclenching before a door grates against the gravel floor. Illumi settles a cold hand on Hisoka’s cheek. He presses his lips at the base of it, his breath frazzling against Hisoka’s skin.

“Okay,” he says softly. “You can open them now.”

“Finally."

Hisoka takes a breath as he flutters his eyes open, and then the world makes his whole body churn with wanting. His chest combusts with the weight of Illumi’s name. His mouth opens, but all he can do is suck in the air through his teeth. A clog rises in his throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Bruises of flowers are blooming around him. Buds are flaming in the palms of their embers. Stems are rising and coiling in different directions; flowers sprouting like secrets in the looping branches of their lips. Vines are kissing, tangling at the walls like the mess of drunk strangers. Butterflies are floating, creating a mellow road from one flower to another. Shreds of sunlight are hitting the crimson danger of their rising petals.

But Hisoka finds himself more at one person.

Illumi is standing in the soiled pathway. His hair is dangling down his shoulders like willowed branches. His skin is pale, with the sunlight swimming on his cheeks. His lips are parted, the midnight croon of his eyes washed clean with excitement. He stares at Hisoka with a smile before he plucks a flower from one of its roots. Illumi takes a tiny whiff, twirling the stem around his wrist.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Hisoka can’t stop looking at him. His thoughts are twisting, his knuckles nearly wailing in pain as he prevents himself from coming closer. But then, he finally takes the step, wrapping his arms around Illumi as the ramming sun sits on their shoulders. He can feel the flowers, damp and pulsing, humming with the tunes of their heartbeats.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “How did you find this place?”

“I was working for a client,” Illumi explains. The flower in his hand is crushed in between their chests. “He wanted me to kill the owner of this mansion. I found this garden house on the way back, and I’ve been asking the Zoldyck servants to tend to it in time for your birthday.”

Hisoka doesn’t bother to cover his surprise. “You’ve been planning this,” he concludes, “for months.”

“Eight, to be exact,” Illumi says. He drops the flower to the ground. The petals are now squeezed together. The assassin laces his arms around Hisoka’s neck like a lusting vine. “Has my present pleased you?”

Hisoka doesn’t know how to say that Illumi’s thoughtful action has pleased him more. His heart is warming right in the pool of his ribs. Illumi places both of his hands on Hisoka’s chest, his fingers taking in the constant thumping of Hisoka’s rapid heartbeat. He wonders if Illumi can hear the words through the lava heat of his skin, if Illumi already knows how much this means to him.

Just this morning, he expected this day to be total mayhem. But his sour mood has yet to surface.

“I have more to show you,” Illumi says, drawing away from his grasp. “Come.”

The assassin begins to walk through the rooted path, glancing only once to make sure that Hisoka is following. The golden light is shooting from the garden vaults above him, glassed ceilings marking their way up the fringe. Hisoka can feel the fresh dews of the flowers dropping. He nearly opens up his palms to catch whatever they’re giving.

He finds himself looking at Illumi, and he wonders how he’s managed to grab an incurable disease.

“There are different flowers here,” Illumi informs. “I tried to catch your color scheme.”

Hisoka feels another smile attack his lips. “Pink?”

Illumi glances back only to show him a knowing grin.

As they walk, Hisoka observes the flowers springing like summits. Patches of flowers are a pale color of pink, with a more vibrant shade teeming up the edges. A clove of green is found at the inner portion of the bloom, with lime buds revealing themselves from underneath the curls.

“This one smells sweet,” Illumi says suddenly. He brings a flower to Hisoka’s nostrils, the summer fragrance hitting down his throat. Short red strips are brushing against his nose, pink slivers shooting up from their thin petals. Hisoka moves his head when a butterfly flies over to graze the tip. “It attracts butterflies and hummingbirds because of its scent.”

Hisoka smiles behind the peak of the flower before Illumi carefully plants it back on the soil. When Illumi emerges from his knees, Hisoka cranes his head to fit in the curve of Illumi’s neck. Another wrench of the same strawberry scent enters through his nostrils. “Have you been using my shampoo?”

“And soap,” Illumi adds. “Why? Do you not like it?” He cocks his head with slight wonder. “I’m sorry for stealing what belongs to you.”

Hisoka lets his lips plant a kiss on the underside of Illumi’s jaw, his breathing ragged when he feels the touch of Illumi’s pulse. His hands are pasted to the span of Illumi’s back, where he has always felt the fluster of midnight wings. His nails fetch for more of Illumi’s skin, the sound of his howl filling up the empty parts of his ribs, the scraping of his knuckles when they’re cracking underneath the sheets. For months, he’s been hoping for Illumi to catch him, but then Illumi has always bundled him up with flight.

He stares at Illumi, trying to gather his thoughts. “But you’re – ”

_But the croon of your voice, the shape of your knuckles, the bruise of your throat, the spaces of your home, the breathing winter of your eyes – has always been – has always been –_

“Mine.”

 

~***~

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t cover my eyes this time.”

“If I did, you would have fallen somewhere else.”

Hisoka steps on the steady ceiling, watching his shadow contort at the crystalline platform. The glassed walls are gleaming under the blushing stroke of the afternoon sky. Lavender lips are spiraling into palm clouds, writhing open to capture the first glimpse of Hisoka’s breath. He finds himself reaching his hand upward, tracing the blithe streaks of the thawing sun with his fingertips. Without thinking, his fingers latch on to the back of Illumi’s shirt, seizing him before the assassin can walk any further.

Illumi glances at him with mild surprise. “Is there something wrong?”

There’s absolutely nothing wrong, except for the fact that the sun is oozing into Illumi’s open palms, and Hisoka is feeling the night breaking open in his ribs. What will happen tomorrow when it’s no longer his birthday? What will happen in the morning if Hisoka stirs to find Illumi’s side empty? What will happen if Hisoka starts to claw for haunted spaces before he realizes that they were never his?

What will happen if –?

Illumi begins to frame Hisoka’s head with the whisper of his fingers. The voices scratching in his temples die down, replaced by the lingering murmur of Illumi’s lips. “I can hear your screaming,” he says softly, “all the way from here.”

“Sorry.” Hisoka turns his head to leave an open-mouthed fracture on Illumi’s palm. “You taste like the sun.”

The man pulls Hisoka in for a bare kiss, theirs mouths hungry and scorched and staggering for more of each other’s breaths. He threads his fingers through Illumi’s hair, the roll of his thumb leaving a lazy spin on the nape of Illumi’s neck. Illumi continues to inhale the monsters trapped in Hisoka’s temples. Their bodies almost careen together, locked in the same pulse.

“I taste like you,” Illumi says, taking his hands away from Hisoka’s cheeks.

They stand in silence before Illumi leads him to the corner of the skyscraper, overlooking the glass buildings of the city, the black shadows moving on the streets, the velvet sprays of the sky biting at the atmosphere. They sit at the edge of the scraper with their legs hanging loosely beneath them. Beyond the city borders lies the dock, leading into the wide belly of the ocean.

Beside him, Illumi tucks his hands under his thighs. His shoulders are hunched forward as he swings his legs. The moons of his eyes are enraptured in the dripping scones of the sunset. “I think of you whenever I see this,” Illumi admits. “I think of how beautiful the sun must be when it’s resting.”

Hisoka’s lips twitch into another smile. “Do you think I’m the sun then?”

Illumi looks at him with his answer on his lips, but he doesn’t say anything.

Hisoka leans on the heels of his palms, tipping his head backward. He lets the sun kiss the core of his throat. “Did you know,” Hisoka whispers, “that the sun has always loved the moon alone?”

The air is once again replaced by a comforting shift of silence. Illumi edges closer to him, diverting his attention to Hisoka’s face. The weight of his gaze begins to burn at Hisoka’s cheek, the fire churning down his neck. Hisoka has always felt Illumi stare at him in the morning, when the assassin assumes that he is still asleep. Sometimes, he feels like Illumi is trying to pry his skin open, capture whatever he’s hiding in his teeth.

_But what am I keeping that Illumi hasn’t already kissed?_

“Did you enjoy your birthday?” Illumi nudges his shoulder. “Did I make you happy?”

Hisoka veers his head at Illumi, his mouth gaping in surprise. He almost expects Illumi to reel the question in, pretend he didn’t say anything. But Illumi’s eyes are expectant, the pink fissure of the sun dawning on his cheeks. Hisoka settles his hand on Illumi’s neck, pulling their lips in the same connected orbit.

This is the last thing Hisoka thinks: Illumi has the wild scent of his love on his lips; Hisoka can taste it on every strawberry kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. c: Please leave a comment or review. ~


End file.
